The Inventor's Integrity
by Elvie-Bexer
Summary: First in a series. Takes place during The Vile Village. Violet is forced to return with Count Olaf and become his wife, but her integrity survives. Violaf
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Inventor's Integrity

**Pairing:** Violet/Olaf, I suppose.

**Setting:** Post-stake burning sequence from _The Vile Village_

**Summary:** AU fic. Before burning at the stake in the town of V.F.D., Klaus and Sunny choose Violet's life over their own and hand her over to Count Olaf. His ultimate goal achieved, Olaf takes her back to his home and forces her to marry him. Left to her own devices, Violet discovers unknown reserves of strength and courage that even Count Olaf did not anticipate.

**Rating:** PG-13, just to be on the safe side.

**Warnings:** Will be posted as they come.

**Genre:** Angst/Action/Adventure/AU

**Disclaimer:** The characters and places are property of Lemony Snicket. The first few sentences are taken directly from _The Vile Village._

- - - - - - - - -

Dupin - who, of course, was really Count Olaf - leaned down to the children, so close that they could smell the egg salad sandwich he'd apparently eaten for lunch. "Of course," he said in a quiet voice so that only the siblings could hear him, "one Baudelaire will escape at the last minute, and live with me until the fortune is mine. The question is, which Baudelaire will that be? You still haven't let me know you're decision."

"We're not going to entertain that notion, Olaf," Violet said bitterly.

Klaus laid a hand firmly on Violet's arm. "Yes, Violet, I'm afraid we are," he said softly.

Violet's head whipped about so fast that Klaus was smacked in the face by her long hair. "What?" she gasped.

Klaus turned to look at the so-called Detective Dupin. "Take Violet," he said brokenly. "She's been the strongest during this ordeal. But you must promise to release her once you've gotten the fortune."

Olaf smiled, a horrible, false smile. "Why, of course," he said. "So glad you've finally agreed to cooperate." He turned to Violet and hissed under his breath, "Run."

"No!" Violet cried, tears starting to streak down her cheeks.

"Violet," Klaus said forcefully, "_Run!_"

She stared between Klaus and Sunny fearfully, coming to the slow realization that she would never see them again. Klaus had a frightening desperation in his eyes; Sunny looked tired and blank. She looked at her big sister and motioned with one tiny hand. "Wun," she said despondently, which here means something to the effect of, "Please go, Violet… it's our only chance."

Violet shuddered. "I promised to take care of you," she whispered. "I promised our parents…"

Klaus shook his head. "They'll understand," he said. "Now go. _Go!_"

As soon as the word left his lips, Violet spun and punched Count Olaf as hard as she could in his face. The force of the blow, endowed with all her hatred and anger and frustration, sent him flying backwards to the ground. Violet kicked a significant amount of dirt in his eyes and then turned, to the horror and astonishment of the V.F.D. mob, and ran as fast as she could out into the horizon.

As she ran, she felt a sort of numbness spreading throughout her - not a cold numbness, but a numbness of emotion, as though her body was shutting down. The wind whipped harshly past her as the sound of fluttering crows grew increasingly distant and the cries of the mob faded away. That same wind sliced through to her core, seeming to carry with it her silent, inward scream of agony at leaving her siblings behind, and at the loss of all that had been good in her world.

Running should hardly be a cure for pain, but it seemed that by performing this simple exercise, Violet could escape all of the horrible things that had ever happened to her. She could outrun the fire and the death of her parents, outrun Count Olaf, outrun the fact that she was abandoning her brother and sister, outrun Mr. Poe and the damn fortune that had caused all this trouble. She could outrun anything at all.

Violet ran and ran and ran until she could run no more, and then she collapsed weakly onto the empty ground, doomed to await her fate.

- - - - - - - - -

Violet awoke to the sound of a very loud engine hurtling up behind her. She kept her eyes firmly closed, refusing to look up and see who it was. There was no point, as far as she could tell; either it was Count Olaf come to take her away, or someone else who would only wreak further havoc in her life.

The motor roared to a stop beside her and then went silent. There was a soft crunching as someone stepped onto the ground, and then Violet was kicked in the stomach, hard.

She did not even flinch at the pain. Her eyes fluttered open, and she discovered that she was looking up at Count Olaf. "Oh, good," he sneered, "You're still alive." He bent and lifted her bodily - a word which hear means "with no gentleness whatsoever towards a poor young girl who has just lost everything" - from the ground.

"Klaus and Sunny?" she asked, her voice a deadened monotone.

Olaf thumped her down on the front of his motorbike. "Burned at the stake," he said flatly, but Violet noticed with some surprise that there was no satisfaction in his voice.

"Officer Luciana?" she asked, not because she really cared. She had guessed, somewhere through the hazy cloud currently covering her mind, that Officer Luciana must have been an accomplice.

"She was Esmé Squalor, your former guardian," Olaf said shortly, dropping her on the bike and propping her up. "They discovered us both, but I left her to deal with them. I think she was burned, too."

Violet did not see any point in informing him of how monstrous this was. "You were dating her."

"I suppose so," Olaf said with a shrug. "We had some things in common, and she was conveniently available. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Violet stared blankly at the horizon ahead of her. A lot of things seem like a good idea at the time, she reflected idly. It had seemed like a good idea to go the beach on the day her parents had died, and although some might have said that it had indeed been a good idea as she was still alive, Violet wished she were dead and gone just as her parents and her siblings now were. "I'm going to kill myself," she informed Olaf.

"Oh, no you're not!" Olaf snarled, climbing onto the bike behind her. "You and I, my dear, are going to have a nice, private little wedding ceremony, just like we had when we first met. Don't you remember?"

"It's not easy to forget almost being forced to wed a beast like you," Violet spat venomously.

Olaf slapped her across the face. "Name-calling isn't nice," he said, waving a finger at her, and with that, he started the motorbike up and began riding into the distance.

Violet gave a startled gasp as the bike leapt to life and began to rush off towards the horizon. "Why marry me?" she demanded, shouting over the roar of the engine. "Why not simply wait until I turn eighteen and then take the money from me?"

"Then the money will belong to you legally," Olaf shouted. "I can't let that happen. Now shut up. I have no interest in talking to you. My girlfriend just died, and I'd like a little time to mourn."

Something erupted inside Violet, and she twisted violently about to face Olaf as best she could. The motorbike lost its balance and tumbled to the ground. Olaf barely managed to shut it off and roll away from it, meanwhile twisting his ankle, before Violet was beating him furiously. "You horrible bastard!" she screamed, tears flowing freely from her eyes. "You wicked monster! You disgusting pig! How can you say something so horrendous to me? My brother and sister, the only people I had left in the world, are dead because of _you_, and you can sit there and pretend you're mourning Esmé! You left her to die! You chose that fate for her! _MONSTER!"_ Violet threw one last furious punch and then collapsed, sobbing hysterically, against Olaf. He stared at her with a combination of shock and awkwardness, blood running freely from his nose and mouth.

"You will be reminded," he said, his voice nasally now, "That you also chose to abandon your siblings to their deaths. It is as much your fault that they are dead as it is mine."

Violet shuddered weakly at this most terrible of responses, but did not deny it. She had already arrived at the same conclusion, even if she had not voiced it aloud. The pain this realization caused her was so great and terrible that nothing Olaf could ever do to her would hurt her more. This, also, she knew with surprising clarity; and Olaf seemed to understand the same fact in that instance. Without another word, he lifted her from the ground again, righting the motorbike as he did so and grimacing in pain at his twisted ankle. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and noticed the blood there. "You don't happen to have a handkerchief, do you?" he asked.

Violet looked at him despondently, as though to say, "Why on earth would I have a handkerchief? And even if I did, what makes you think I would be willing to give it to you?"

With an elaborate sigh that caused more blood to spurt from his nose, Olaf pulled out a knife hidden in his belt and cut loose a piece of his hideous blue jacket. He used this to slowly staunch the blood flow, sitting on the ground and holding it in place.

"Tilt your head back," Violet instructed automatically. When he shot her a strange look, she said, "It helps staunch the flow of blood."

Still watching her somewhat suspiciously, Olaf did as she had told him. It took a considerably long and deathly silent ten minutes, but at last it seemed his nose had stopped bleeding. "Well," he said, rising from the ground. "It seems we can leave at last."

"Where are we going?" Violet asked anxiously - not to say that she was anxious to get there; she was anxious in a bad way, meaning that she was frightened of where Olaf might take her.

"We are returning to my house," he said.

"You've been there the whole time?" Violet said in disbelief. "Why, the police could have found you at any time!"

"If they were as clever as you are, yes," Olaf said with a noticeable sneer. "But they quite lack the Baudelaires' quick wit."

Violet studied him as he went about brushing dirt and grass from his pant legs. She noticed that one of his hideously ugly rubber shoes was missing - probably that was how he had been identified. But who had revealed him, if not Sunny and Klaus? "Why do you hate us so much?" she asked aloud.

Olaf looked up at her, his one eyebrow rising in surprise. "I - you have money," he said irritably, looking back at himself as he continued his previous task. "And I need money very badly. That's all there is to it."

"You seem to hate us a lot more passionately than you hate anyone else," Violet noted. "Otherwise you wouldn't have gone this far."

"People do insane things for money," Olaf said shortly. "Get on the bike."

Violet glanced sidelong at the motorbike, less than pleased that it was to be their mode of transportation for however long it took to reach Count Olaf's house. Even more displeasing was the notion of having to lean up against him the entire ride home. "Isn't there another way to get - to get to your home?" she questioned, quickly veering from calling Count Olaf's lair 'home.'

"If you want to walk, be my guest," Olaf said, bowing mockingly to her.

"Very well," Violet said, and started walking.

None too surprisingly, Olaf dove after her and caught her wrist. "Don't you dare walk away from me!" he snarled, clutching her tightly. She struggled to jerk away.

"You offered me the option of walking," she spat, "And I chose it."

"I was being sarcastic," Olaf said, eyes flashing with anger. "Sarcastic means - "

"- Saying something in a satirical way," Violet finished, trying desperately to pull her arm from Olaf's grip. "Klaus told me that."

"Klaus was always too much of a bookworm for his own good," Olaf hissed, jerking hard on Violet's arm. She tumbled against him, and before she could escape he picked her up and slung her onto the motorbike again. "If I allowed you to walk, you could run away," he added. "I'm surprised you didn't think of it before."

"What's the point in running?" Violet said wearily. "I have nowhere to go anymore, do I?"

Olaf actually seemed to ponder this for a moment. "No, I suppose you don't," he said, looking at the ground. His shiny eyes seemed to see something, and he bent for it, scooping up whatever the object was in his hand.

"Drop something?" Violet asked, her tone biting.

"Just you mind your attitude, girl," Olaf said through gritted teeth. "Or you'll find yourself in more pain than you can imagine."

Violet turned her eyes to the empty horizon line. "You can't hurt me anymore," she said tonelessly.

Olaf chose not to respond to this; instead, he started up the motorbike and began riding across the empty landscape.

Violet closed her eyes and drifted into exhausted sleep.

- - - - - - - - -

When Violet awoke it was very dark outside, and she was being carried up a flight of stairs. "No," she whimpered, clawing at whoever was holding her. "Klaus… Sunny… mother…"

"Shut up," Olaf's voice hissed from above her. "You'll wake my associates."

"Want… home…" she mumbled, her eyes still closed tightly.

"This _is_ your home."

"No!" she shrieked. "Not home! Never home!"

Something very closely akin to pain flashed across Olaf's face, but Violet didn't see it. "Shut up," he snarled again, and having said that, he kicked open a door as hard as he could. It made a loud banging noise as it smacked the wall and began to bounce back. He caught it with his foot and dropped Violet onto a none-too-soft mattress. "Go back to sleep," he commanded, and turning on his heel, he walked from the room and locked the door behind him.

Much as Violet hated to submit even slightly to Olaf's wishes, she almost immediately obeyed his order and fell asleep.

- - - - - - - - -

The powder-faced women woke Violet in the morning by shaking her violently. "Get up!" one of them shouted in her ear. "Get up! You're getting married today!"

Violet blinked owlishly at them. There was a small window in her room, and through it she noticed a stream of bright sunlight. "What…?" she mumbled, still disoriented from sleep.

"The Count is marrying you today," the second woman said. "We need to find you a dress. The judge has arrived, you know."

Violet looked up hopefully. "Justice Strauss?" She had begun to remember the events of the day - or days previous. She had no idea how long she'd slept.

"Of course not, you silly girl," the first woman said, laughing. "A different judge. He's been promised significant pay for his silence, once the fortune is the Count's."

Violet rubbed her eyes and stared down at herself. Her dress was rumpled and dirty, and her hair was loose and tangled. In short, she was not fit at all to be married. She doubted, however, that this would matter much to Count Olaf. "What time will the ceremony be?" she asked, hiding her face in her hands again.

"As soon as you're ready for it," the second woman told her.

Violet ran her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it into place, but after a short while she decided she simply did not care enough. "I suppose I'm ready, then," she said with a sigh.

The first woman looked shocked. "What?" she cried. "But _look_ at you! Don't you want a dress? Don't you want a bath?"

Violet stood and met the women's gazes coolly. "Why should I bother to try to be more attractive for a man who certainly never tries to be more attractive for me?"

It was a good question, and it was said with the perfect amount of chilly aloofness - a phrase which here means, "with just the right amount of disdain." Both of the women exchanged a glance, and then shrugged. "It's your wedding," the first said, although she sounded almost… _sad_. "And I was so looking forward to playing dress-up with you…"

"What do you think I am, some kind of life-sized doll?" Violet asked icily.

The first woman looked glum. "I never had any pretty dolls to play with," she said. "I always wanted a little sister, so that she could have been my living doll…"

Violet's cold eyes seemed to soften a little. "Maybe another time," she said quietly, and with that she turned and walked with surprising conviction out the door.

- - - - - - - - -

There would be little point in describing to you the ceremony that occurred in Olaf's backyard. It was the same words that were heard at every wedding, the same pitiful "I do's," and the signing of the legal documents. Olaf monitored carefully to make sure that Violet signed with her right hand instead of her left, as such a simple ploy had been what destroyed him before, but she tried nothing of the sort. Interestingly, however, Olaf noted that she had begun to appear a little less defeated. She still looked miserable, but something about her was beginning to change. Olaf didn't understand the change, but he was suddenly very afraid of it. Almost the instant the vows were exchanged and the paper signed, he ordered her away. His new wife left without the slightest objection, but for an instant their eyes met, and he saw something cold and hard and bitter reflected in her still-young gaze - something that reminded him eerily of himself.

Olaf refused to entertain that notion.

- - - - - - - - -

The money, legally, was his now, and Olaf took it greedily and _almost_ without remorse. He used the first of it to purchase himself a large and expansive house just outside of town. It was a veritable palace, with acres of gardens and groves and at least five floors. He hired servants to take care of the place and gave quarters to each and every one of his accomplices, although it was not long before he sent all but the two powder-faced women out.

The two women remained solely to see to Violet's needs. Since their wedding day Olaf had done his best to avoid her - strange, it would seem, since Violet had much more reason to do her best avoiding him. But that mysterious something he had spotted in her eyes had struck a wound deep inside him, and that frightened him more than anything. For this reason, he entrusted her to his two female accomplices' care.

Olaf designated to Violet a significant portion of the fifth floor. He took to referring to it as the Countess' Suite, although the two women soon began to call it the Studio. Olaf never ventured there; but he made certain Violet was provided for. He did not care that he was not honoring his promise to Klaus to release Violet; that was insignificant. And although Violet was of no use to him anymore, that small something he feared so much forced him to keep her locked safely away, where he knew she could not harm him.

Olaf and Violet's relationship remained in this state for seven long years. Violet asked little of Olaf. Olaf asked only one thing of her - _do not stray._

Things might have remained this way until Olaf's or Violet's death, if that one fateful night had never happened…

- - - - - - - - -


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Do the white-faced women have names? I don't think they do; but I gave them names anyway. If I'm wrong about this please alert me ASAP. Thanks.**

- - - - - - - - - -

"There will be another party next weekend," the Duchess Baxter was saying to Count Olaf at one of the numerous expensive and upper-class parties that he was suddenly invited to. "Will you attend, dear Count?"

Olaf had not been foolish enough to use his true name. He was still a Count, certainly, because the title gave him status as much as his money did; but his name to everyone in the wealthy upper-class circles he now inhabited was Alfo. Nobody seemed to notice that the letters in his name could be rearranged to spell "Olaf." As long as he wore very high boots he could hide the tattoo of the eye on his ankle; and, as a last desperate measure of protection, he had begun to wax his eyebrows. Now he had a very noticeable separation between what had once been one eyebrow, and that caused him a deeper pain than he could ever say - ridiculous as that may sound to a sane person such as yourself or my friend Katie. (I, naturally, am not sane.)

"Yes, of course I will attend, my dear," Olaf said, smiling brilliantly at the young Duchess. "Your parties are simply delightful."

The Duchess blushed, and then spoke the fateful words that would turn the Count's unexpectedly peaceful life upside-down: "Why don't you bring the Countess along? I've never seen her at any other functions, and I imagine it must get awfully lonely."

Olaf's eyes darted fearfully back and forth. "The Countess?" he repeated, swallowing hard. "She doesn't much like parties, I'm afraid. She'd much rather be doing something else."

"What on earth does the girl enjoy more than a good party?" the Duchess' husband, Duke Baxter, asked with a laugh.

Olaf slid a hand into his jacket pocket and felt a soft brush of silk - Violet's hair ribbon. It had fallen from her dress pocket that day many years before when they had tumbled from the motorbike; and although he had long ago convinced himself that he despised the girl he called his wife, he carried the small but significant token of her everywhere he went. "She likes to invent things," he blurted before he could stop himself.

The Duchess raised a delicate eyebrow. "Oh?" she said curiously. "Do tell."

Olaf waved a hand, laughing nervously. "It's all rather above my head, really," he said. "I'm sure she could explain it to you."

"Well, now you simply _must_ bring her!" the Duchess cried. "I am most curious as to what your little wife builds while you're off doing business."

The Duke nodded his agreement. "Yes, do bring her," he said. "I'd be most interested to meet a girl more intelligent than you."

Olaf forced a rather cold laugh and then excused himself, saying, "If you will forgive me, Duchess - Duke - I am afraid I have some pressing matters that demand my immediate attention. Good night, and thank you for the wonderful evening."

"Don't forget the girl next time!" the Duke called merrily.

Olaf turned and fled the room without answering, his mind focused on an awful sense of foreboding. To bring Violet out in public… to have to spend an entire evening with her… he wasn't certain he could handle that.

It had been seven years since he had actually even looked at her, he realized. She remained in her upstairs apartment, or if she walked in the gardens at all, she made sure he was not present in the house. She must have changed a great deal. After all, she was twenty-one years old now, no small fourteen-year-old girl.

Maybe that thing that had frightened him so much about her had disappeared, he reasoned. Maybe it had died and gone away. Maybe it would be all right to let her out.

But there was always the possibility that it wouldn't.

- - - - - - - - -

Olaf had been kept awake all night by his own fears about how to confront his wife again. When the sun rose, he was already awake and pacing about his rooms, still pondering what to do. Finally he heard footsteps on the floor above him. Violet was awake, too.

Sighing heavily, he opened the door to his rooms, already fully dressed, and walked up a flight of stairs to the top floor. Four doors on the right, straight down the main corridor, was the first to open into the Countess' Suite. Olaf approached this door as though frightened and knocked lightly.

"You don't need to knock like that, Hester," a voice called irritably from inside. Olaf realized quickly that the voice belonged to Violet, and Violet was assuming he was the first powder-faced woman. "I've told you that time after - "

The door opened, and Violet stopped, staring in surprise at the man in her door. "Count Olaf," she said stiffly, a touch of chill in her voice. "I didn't realize I'd disturbed you. You have my… _sincerest_… apologies if my inventions kept you awake last night."

Olaf couldn't find his voice to respond. It was simply impossible that the woman before him was Violet. She could not have changed so much in seven years. And yet…

She was tall and slender, with chocolate brown, board-straight hair that hung just below her shoulders. That same hair was currently pulled back with a black silk ribbon, just like its twin in Olaf's pocket. She wore a dress Olaf knew he had seen brought in by Hester and her sister Heloise. It was apparently her favorite dress, because it had seen much use in whatever period she had had it; it was covered in black marks and grease stains from whatever she might have been inventing. The original color, beneath every stain and mark upon it, was a rich blue and a deep grass green. On her arms, fishnet gloves with the fingers cut off disappeared into the puffy sleeves of her dress. Her face itself had thinned a bit, her cheekbones more prominent and her delicate nose just a touch smaller. Her lips, an extraordinarily light shade of pink, were currently pressed into a thin line, and in her green eyes there was a terrifying, steely glint.

That thing Olaf had feared had certainly not gone away. But what was worse, Olaf realized he had much more to contend with than the mysterious inner strength

"You have two eyebrows instead of one," Violet noted, sounding only vaguely interested. "That was intelligent of you."

Olaf stuttered somewhat uselessly, "You've changed a great deal, Violet."

She raised a single eyebrow disdainfully. "Change tends to happen to people over seven years," she said. After another moment of awkward silence, she asked, "Did you need something?"

"Not really…" Olaf said dazedly, still studying her with astonishment. An almost hungry glint was appearing in his dark eyes.

"Well, I have many important things to do," Violet said impatiently. "I'm sure you have important things to do, as well. Wasting my fortune and all of that."

Olaf awoke from whatever trance he had been in. "I haven't been _wasting_ it," he said defensively. "I've been increasing it by my hard work!"

"By stealing from other defenseless people, I'm certain," Violet said disgustedly. "All I've noticed you doing is going to various parties with the aristocracy."

The word "parties" helped bring Olaf back to the matter at hand. "And speaking of parties," he said brightly, changing his mood with stunning rapidity, "You and I have been invited to one next weekend."

Violet sneered at the invitation. "What use do I have for ridiculous parties that are only frivolous shows of wealth?" she demanded, and made to slam the door.

Olaf caught the door with his hand and pushed it back open again. "You're my countess," he said severely, eyes narrowed. "It's part of your duty as my wife." He paused. "And what on earth does 'frivolous' mean?"

"It means 'completely useless,'" Violet said flatly. "Like you."

She went to slam the door again, but Olaf grabbed an umbrella from a nearby rack and wedged it between the door and its frame. "Violet Baudelaire, you will heed what I say or you will suffer the…"

His voice trailed off as he pushed open the door and found himself in the midst of the Countess' Suite - or more accurately, the Studio. And it was indeed a studio; plans littered the floor everywhere Olaf looked, and various machines in differing stages of their building processes sat on several tables. There was a working ceiling fan about Olaf's head, humming quietly; a miniature hang glider strung from a corner; a small mechanical dog. Anything Violet could imagine came to life inside this room, and Olaf felt the startling sense of magic and peace that she had spread there, as though someone had laid a warm, fuzzy blanket over him while he watched the most extraordinarily beautiful of sunrises.

"You… you made all this?" he said, awed.

Violet looked at him curiously. "Yes," she said softly. "Haven't you noticed all the things I've asked you for? It's so I can invent."

Olaf nodded slowly, then shook his head to clear the haze that was once more settling around him. "If you think _I'm_ wasting your fortune, maybe you should consider what _you're_ spending your money on," he said harshly.

Violet's eyes narrowed, and she snarled, "Get out."

Olaf crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to back down. "Go to the Duchess Baxter's party with me next weekend."

"Get _out!_" Violet shouted.

"I'll get out if you agree to go," Olaf said firmly, although inside he was starting to shake. That cold glint in her eyes…

She clenched her fists tightly at her sides and hissed, "I won't go, but I _will_ set one of my inventions on you if you don't leave. Now _get out._"

Olaf gulped his fear back noisily, glancing at all of the inventions, and then turned and fled.

- - - - - - - - -

Olaf was in a foul temper as he stalked about his rooms later in the morning. He was infuriated by Violet's show of hatred - and he was more infuriated that he had been so easily defeated by her. That coldness in her voice… that dangerous numbness in her eyes…

No. He wouldn't let her control him.

He reached down and touched the silky ribbon in his pocket. It was already too late for that, he realized grimly. She had been controlling him the past seven years. She had _wanted_ him to see that bitter hatred in her eyes. She had _wanted_ him to fear her. Well, it had worked, hadn't it? The little bitch had gotten exactly what she desired. He had avoided her like the plague, fearing her, trying to please her in a small way by pretending to look the other way when items for her inventions came in.

Well, no more. Olaf was lord and master of his household, and no bratty orphan girl, no matter how rich and no matter how beautiful, was going to control him.

At that moment, Heloise walked into his room, a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in her hands. "Breakfast's ready," she said. "It's waiting for you in the third dining room." She turned to leave.

"Wait, Heloise," Olaf ordered. He hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Send my Countess down to dine with me."

Heloise almost dropped the plate she was carrying, "But _sir_," she started to object. "You haven't seen her for _years_. And the Countess doesn't like you much, anyway."

"Thank you for reminding me of that, Heloise," Olaf said testily. "And I visited her this morning, for your information. I just thought it'd be nice to have an actual conversation with her for once."

Heloise was still looking at him disbelievingly. "Whatever you say, sir," she said with a shrug. "Shall I bring her food downstairs, then?"

"Of course, you idiot!" Olaf snapped. Heloise turned and ran as quickly as her mermaid-style dress would allow out of the room.

Olaf sighed as the sound of her shuffling down the floor faded away. He stood and went to go downstairs, but paused briefly to glance at himself in the mirror. Normally doing so cheered him immensely, but for some reason his reflection seemed depressingly old that morning. "Hello, handsome," he said to his reflection, smiling at his own come-on, but even that failed to work. "Shut up!" he yelled at the mirror, even though the poor, innocent mirror had said nothing. "I know that was pathetic!" He picked up a bottle of bad-smelling cologne and threw it at the mirror. He missed completely. Instead, the bottle shattered against the wall, spilling the cologne in a messy, stinking waterfall to the carpet.

"What on earth are you doing?" a cold voice asked from the door. "And what _is_ that smell?"

Olaf spun to face Violet, who was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. She had changed into a deep purple dress covered in black lace. The same fishnet gloves adorned her arms, but her hair was no longer pulled out of her face by a ribbon. She was eyeing him as someone might eye a large and disgusting insect. "Well?" she said questioningly.

"I was… I was…" Olaf stuttered. Suddenly, he was given a brilliant solution. "I was getting in character for my next big acting debut!" he announced, striding over to her with considerably more confidence than he felt. "It is a great role; an alcoholic man redeemed by the love of his life." Olaf knelt on the floor in front of Violet, slightly distressed at how much taller she suddenly became, and took her hand, which she quickly attempted to pull away.

"No, no, no!" Olaf said, grabbing it back and hanging onto it. "I need it to get in character." He closed his eyes and made up a speech as quickly as he could. "Oh, my dearest love," he said, "I know that I have indeed been most wicked in these dark and tragic days - " He paused for dramatic affect, looking up into Violet's eyes. He quickly looked away when he noted the disapproval. "- but I beg of you to forgive me, for I have always, always loved you. I swear that I shall never abandon you again!" He kissed her hand and moved to kiss all the way up her arm, but she jerked her hand from him before he could continue.

"I'm deeply moved," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm - not to say that her voice actually dripped. That would be disgusting - not to mention impossible - if liquid suddenly came pouring from every word she spoke. The only thing that was actually dripping in the room was Count Olaf's disgusting cologne. "I suppose the girl of his heart falls instantly into his arms at that revolting little dialogue?" Violet finished, wiping a hand on her skirt as though it were slimy.

"Oooh!" Olaf exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Good idea. Let's try that, shall we? You swoon on three, and I'll catch you, all right? One - two - "

"Absolutely not," Violet said flatly. She turned away from him and walked out the door. "I'm going downstairs to get my breakfast. I was under the impression that you were doing the same."

Olaf ran quickly out the door after her and nearly tripped down the long and winding staircase. "I was on my way," he said, trying to regain some dignity. "But you know, it's very important for an actor to really get into his character."

"I don't see why you bother trying," Violet said icily. "You're horrendous."

Olaf didn't answer. He had expected a similar response. "I do all kinds of acting at the little rich people's parties," he said.

"Really."

"Oh yes. You'll get to see at the party Saturday at the Duke and Duchess'."

"Of course, I'm not going, so I suppose I'll have to be disappointed, won't I?" They reached the bottom step in unison. Violet stopped abruptly, and Olaf stopped after walking a little ahead of her. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the third dining room, of course, where breakfast is always served," Olaf said.

"_My_ breakfast," Violet said angrily, "Is always served in my room, because apparently you're too much of a coward to look at me."

"Why did I invite you to breakfast today, then?" Olaf asked.

"I don't know, but I wish you hadn't," Violet snapped. She pushed past him. "I'm going to get my breakfast, and then I'll eat upstairs," she called over her shoulder.

"Oh no you won't!" Olaf snarled.

"Yes I will!" Violet shouted back.

"You won't," he retorted, fists clenching tightly. "Besides, you've missed the third dining room already. It's two doorways back on the left."

Violet spun around and stomped back down the hallway until she had arrived at the door he had directed her to. She marched in, stomping loudly into the room. Olaf followed her sullenly; even the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes failed to cheer him up.

The third dining room was the smallest of four, and it had a quaint little round table at its center. There was a fireplace for cold winter days, and large windows to look out at the extraordinary grounds surrounding the house, which were well kept by a gardener. "Nice dining room," Violet said, sounding almost sincere. She grabbed a plate and began loading her plate with food. Once it was filled, she made to leave, but Olaf leapt in front of the door.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Back upstairs," Violet said flatly.

"Wrong again," Olaf retorted. "We're taking breakfast down here together, as a husband and his little wife should."

"I am _not_ your little wife!" Violet shouted, so enraged that she nearly threw her plate of food on the floor. "Let me out of here! I want to go back to my studio!"

"Yes… about that," Olaf said, lightly placing the tips of his fingers together. "You're simply wasting money with all that junk up there. I think it's time you stopped playing around in your little studio and started doing more practical, wifely things."

"You _bastard!_" Violet shouted, tears coming violently as she ashamedly tried to hide them. "I forgot how much I hated you! You're a beast! You're evil! _I hate you!_"

"I realize that," Olaf said irritably. "I've realized that for a long time."

"Then why won't you let me go?" she cried. "You have no real use for me anymore. You have my money. Just let me go!"

Olaf looked her up and down, and then said firmly, "No."

Violet stared at him in disbelief, and then shoved the plate of food into his hands. "I'm not hungry," she said, petulant anger clear in her voice. "I want to go back to my studio."

Olaf grabbed her hands and put the plate back in them. "Eat, Violet," he said. When she opened her mouth to refuse, he snarled, "_Sit down!_"

She leaned away from him, startled, and then carried her plate over to her table. She sat in sullen silence, eating quietly, while Olaf filled his plate. He dropped into the chair across from her and shoved some of the pancakes into his mouth. When he had swallowed, he said to her, "Your inventions mean a great deal to you, don't they?"

"You know the answer to that."

Olaf nodded. "If you want to keep the inventions," he said carefully, "Then come to the party on Saturday."

Violet glared at him. "Why is it so important that I go?" she demanded.

Olaf shrugged. "People begin to ask questions when they don't see a man's wife, ever," he said. "And I was specifically asked to bring you. It will seem strange if you decline the invitation."

Violet didn't seem to believe him. "And that's truly the only reason you want me to go?" she questioned. He nodded earnestly. She sighed and said, "Fine. I'll go, if you'll let me keep my inventions."

"Done," Olaf said with a triumphant smile.

"I _am_ done," Violet said icily, pushing her plate away from her. "Done with breakfast, and done with you, for now. I'm going back to my studio. Please leave me alone."

Olaf stayed silent as she walked past him, and then, when she was at the door, he said, "You'll be needing a new dress."

She exhaled sharply in frustration. "Indeed," she said flatly. "I suppose I will."

"I'll send Hester to purchase it for you," Olaf offered.

"Good." The door slammed shut behind her, and she was gone.

Olaf smirked slightly as he took a sip from his orange juice. At least in this single battle, he had won.


End file.
